


Apple Pie with a Hint of Cinnamon

by totallynotaddicted



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Did someone say booty shorts?, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Drunk bitty, Fluff, I heard someone say booty shorts, Jack Zimmermann is a National treasure, M/M, Mutual Pining, SO MUCH FLUFF, Someone get Nic Cage out here, lots and lots of pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallynotaddicted/pseuds/totallynotaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Jack thought about kissing Eric Richard Bittle was the first time they met. Little did  Jack know that it wouldn't be his last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pies and Checking

**Author's Note:**

> @ me: *stares all of the stories I have yet to finish*  
> @ also me: *Loves Zimbits to death*
> 
> Please, take this humble offering.

**1**

 

The first time Jack thought about kissing Eric Richard Bittle was the first time they met.

It was a passing thought really so Jack didn't think much about it at the time.

Eric was cute, Jack supposed. He had a nice face with soft features, a slim but solid body, and a warm smile. His most defining trait was definitely his eyes; big, beautiful round melted-chocolate-brown eyes that were framed by long eyelashes.

A pretty country boy, one hundred percent.

This frog would surely have people fawning all over him in no time. If his pretty eyes didn't do the trick surely his sweet personality would.

(A least that's what the team told Jack after Eric had left. Jack only saw Bitty as awkward and uncomfortable.)

Hell, Shitty joked about Jack making 'heart-eyes' at Eric and them falling in love. He had even acted the whole scene out, which greatly amused the rest of the team. Holster wanted to suggest the play to the theater majors. Ransom thought it would do better as a book. Jack could only roll his eyes at his friends' antics.

Jack didn't really do crushes or anything like that anyways. It was all too confusing to him, the emotions that came along with liking someone. It made his head spin, stomach twist, and heart pound violently against his chest, either out of love or pain.

It sucked ass.

So, no, Jack didn't do crushes or love much.

Besides, it distracted him from his goal of becoming a better player and, especially as a captain, he could not let such a thing happen.

However, as he ate the piece of pie he had managed to snag from his unruly teammates, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss someone like Eric; small and loveable and with a very obvious passion for baking.

 _Sweet, probably_ , he decided and then went back to eating the free food that had been brought.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**2**

 

The next time that he thought about kissing Bittle was during one of the checking practices.

It was on accident, Jack swears. He didn't mean to think it.

It just sorta… came out? Popped into his head? His subconscious brought it forth?

Whatever

It was because they were at a close proximity, he reasoned with himself later, terrified that such a thought had gone through his mind so willy-nilly. It was because Bittle had a small frame and Jack had a thing for guys that were shorter than him and so his brain conjured up the image of him kissing Bitty.

It could happen to anyone.

Right?

But the damage was done and there was no denying it.

It had been in the middle of the checking practice, just right when Jack had decided to go a little harder on Bittle. However, Jack had gone a little overboard and nearly ended up slamming Bittle onto the boards. Jack had turned his face quickly to apologize only to end up brushing his nose against Bittle's. Bittle had tensed, eyes wide and slightly fearful. It was then that Jack had to confront the idea that _Bittle is actually really pretty_ because it's damn near impossible to shove your face into Bittle's face without noticing his button nose and long blond lashes and bright chocolate eyes.

Again. Could happen to anyone.

Today, however, Jack had also noticed Bittle's lips, which in that moment were opened in a small 'o'. They were a little chapped from the cold but all in all they looked very soft and very much kissable, something that Jack realized that he actually wouldn't mind doing at all.

_Fuck._

Jack pushed off of Bittle with a start, surprised by this revelation. Bittle let out a sigh of relief but glanced over at Jack curiously, lips pursed.

(Which did not help the situation. _AT. ALL._ )

“Practice is over for today. Grab your stuff and go,” Jack blurted.

Bittle frowned and shifted nervously on his skates. “But you said that-”

“Are you disobeying my orders?” asked Jack, narrowing his eyes at Bittle.

Bittle straightened himself and vigorously shook his head. “Yes-I mean, no, sir! I'll just-I mean I'll- Thank you for- uh-um- I'mma leave now, bye!” Jack watched Bittle half-flop, half-skate off the ice in a hurry. Before he waddled off the rink Bittle shot him a nervous wave and a loud, “Thank you!”

Thank you?

_Thank you?!_

_You could just kiss me and we'll call it even!_ Jack almost called back, mentally wincing. Where the hell was all of this coming from?

“Bye, Bittle,” he said instead.

“See you at practice!”

See you at practice?

_See you at practice?!_

Jack checked the clock in the far corner of the gym.

6:43.

They had less than two hours before morning practice started.

He'd have to see Bittle again in less than two hours.

He'd have to see Bittle's stupid in face in less than two hours and remind himself that he-Jack Zimmermann- had actually thought about kissing the upstart frog just a little while ago.

Jack slumped against the glass and slid all the way down, falling flat on his ass. He buried his face into his hands and allowed himself to let out a low, loud groan of despair.

He really hated himself sometimes.

(That practice, Bitty, could not figure out for the life of him what he had done to warrant so many glares from his captain.)

 


	2. White Sheets, Pale Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides in* Would you look at that. Here I am with the new chapter. Enjoy!

**3**

A mild concussion.

Bittle has a mild concussion.

Eric Richard Bittle had a fucking mild concussion and it was all Jack's fault because he had been the one to suggest that risky late-minute play and Bittle had only been a good team player and followed his orders.

_Fuck._

Never in his whole hockey career had Jack felt so guilty about a player getting hurt. Most of the time Jack simply accepted it. Hockey was a contact sport. People were bound to get hurt. It was something that was universally accepted. When this sort of thing happened Jack merely apologized, the other guy forgave, maybe they'd fist bump and then they'd move on because, what else could they do? It was bound to happen.

But it was never supposed to happen to Bitty.

Jack still remembered the way his heart sank as he watched the younger boy fly through the air, twisting gracefully. He still remembered the sound of the whistle as it rang and bounced around in his skull when he saw Bittle's small form all crumpled up on the floor. His usually bright features twisted in pain and helmet thrown three feet away. There was no way that he would ever get over the hole in his heart as Bitty hobbled off the rink, leaning heavily on coach with glazed eyes.

It was all his fault. All his damn fault.

They didn't even win the next game.

Bittle got hurt for nothing.

“Would you like to see him? He's sleeping right now but-”

Jack snapped out his reveries and nodded. “Yes,” Jack said quickly. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

The nurse nodded, typing in something into her computer. Probably registering his visit. A few moments later she looked up and gave him a bright smile as she stood up. “Right this way, Mr. Zimmermann,” she said politely as she motioned for him to follow her.

Jack had never been particularly fond of Samwell's little hospital. It was cheerier than most. It was made of red bricks with peeling paint, almost the complete opposite of the white, cold walls of the majority of hospitals. The personnel here were also much more warmer and kinder than most hospital staff. But Jack had never liked hospitals to begin with, especially since his overdose. It reminded him too much of the failures he had had in his past. He did his best to avoid them nowadays.

But today he had to make an exception. He just had to make an exception.

“All I ask is that you don't wake him up,” the nurse said as they approached the room Bittl was in. “He's still in a rather groggy state and we don't want him to do any sudden movements.”

Jack furrowed his eyebrows as the nurse opened the door. “Bittle wouldn't-” he began.

The nurse shook her head and cut him off. “We don't know how he'll react you so it's best to stay on the safe side. We'll tell him that you were here when he wakes up. Sound good, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack nodded his agreement and the nurse pulled back the thin curtain that separated Bitty from the rest of the world. “I'll leave you alone for a bit but please don't stay here too long. We have to close up in about half-an-hour.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed. The nurse bobbed her in response and closed the curtains again. Jack waited until her footsteps had faded away before turning around and facing Bittle.

Bittle had always looked small to Jack but right now he was positively dwarfed by the white sheets and fluffy white pillow. He was all tucked in, only his neck and visible. Jack felt a pang of guilt when he noticed the bandages wrapped around his head.

“I'm sorry,” Jack blurted. “I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen to you.”

Predictably Bittle doesn't respond, still in a deep sleep. He couldn't hear anything that Jack told him now. But Jack felt something lessen in his chest so he doesn't chalk up his outburst as a total failure.

Jack shakily sat down in the chair next to the bed. Bittle's cheeks were nice and rosy, his features soft and relaxed. It seemed as though he was taking a pleasant nap.

Well, at least Jack could comfort himself knowing that Bittle wasn't in immediate pain at the moment. Not that Bittle even belonged here in the first place.

Jack studied Bittle's face, quietly admiring him. This was okay, right? He was just checking to make sure that Bittle really was sleeping peacefully. Yes. Yes, that is why he must also look at Bittle's lips because whenever Bittle wasn't feeling good he would frown. So if he was frowning he was in pain, so therefore Jack must make sure that Bittle isn't frowning to be absolutely sure that Bittle wasn't in pain.

Jack mentally pat himself on the back for his flawless reasoning.

Bittle was, in fact, no frowning. Nor was he smiling. He was kinda neutral, chapped lips parted slightly.

Jack found himself staring at those lips for a little longer than necessary. He started to learn forward, eyes going half-lidded. He stopped a few centimeters from Bittle's face. Jack could feel Bittle's soft exhales against his lips, sending nervous chills down his spine. When was the last time Jack had been at such a close proximity to someone who made him feel this way? Why did he feel so dizzy all of a sudden? Also, when did his hands start to get so sweaty?

He could do, he realized. He could just lean in and kiss Bittle right here, right now. And damn did Jack find that idea much more appealing than he should have.

Jack closed his eyes, letting his senses take over just like they in hockey, and glided forward, towards Bittle, towards whatever the hell his body wanted him to do.

But he stopped, his lips hovering a centimeter from Bittle's.

 _Don't wake him up,_ the nurse had told him. _Don't wake him up._

A kiss would certainly wake him up. There's a reason why in fairy tales the princess wakes up with a kiss.

Jack snapped out of whatever haze he had been under and jerked away, nearly toppling out the chair. He sat there, heart racing and head pounding.

 _What the hell_ _was that_ _?_ He berated himself. _What the hell_ _were you_ _thinking?_

He shook his head and got up.

It was the hospital air making him all mushy and emotional. He had to get out. He'd properly apologize to Bittle later when he was conscious.

And hopefully then he wouldn't try to do something as dumb as trying to kiss him again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pst you can find me on twitter @TNAhere and tumblr @totally-not-addicted and we can talk about how Jack Zimmermann deserves the world)
> 
> Until the next time!


	3. Red Shorts and Ice Tubs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks in. Throws this chapter in your direction*

**4**

With Bittle's southern-belle-like personality Jack sometimes forgot that Bittle wasn't just the sweet baker and bashful southern boy that had stolen the team's heart. He was also a seasoned athlete. Which meant that he had toned arms and legs. Toned arms and legs that Jack never really thought about until he had to deal with them.

“Jack!” Bittle exclaimed, as he opened the door, giving Jack a bright smile.

 _Red's a good color for Bittle. The shorts looked good on him_ , Jack thought absently.

Jack's kinda forgotten why he came here in the first place. Although, he knows that it wasn't to ogle at Bittle in those red shorts.

“I thought you'd left for that prospect camp in Chicago!”

Prospect Camp? Oh, that's right. He had to do something before he left for Chicago.

He had to apologize to Bittle  before he left. How could he have forgotten? His concentration has been off for the past couple of weeks. He really should do something about it.

“I'm about to head out. Sorry to interrupt but I wanted-” Jack started.

“No worries!” Bittle interrupted, ever the chatter-box. “I was just telling my mom how I want to do up the Haus.”

Of course. Everyone and their mother probably knew by now just how much Bittle wanted to remodel the Haus. Jack found it pretty endearing, although his constant jabbering about it did edge on borderline annoying at times.

Oh, well. Jack's learned to deal with it.

Jack tried again. “Yeah, well-”

“Really fix up that den, you know?” Bittle continued, completely ignoring Jack. “Clean up the kitchen? Get some curtains!”

“I-”

“Get rid of that nasty green cough in the den-” Bittle said.

“Bittle-”

“Shitty said he'd kill me if I did, but let me you-that thing's a health hazard if I've even seen-”

“Bittle!” Jack snapped, exasperated by Bittle's yammering. Bittle quickly shut up and stared up at him with big brown eyes. “Listen. Before I left I...” Jack's voice faltered, the words sticking to the back of his throat. He coughed a little and then did his best to force out the next couple of sentences. “I just wanted to make sure we're cool… and that you knew… I'm sorry about that hit.” Jack squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at Bittle. “And after everything that happened this year, you still voted for me. I really appreciate that.”

Jack opened his eyes to find Bittle leaning against the wall, bashfully blushing at the floor. “Jack, of course! I mean, it's been amazing playing with you.” He paused a little before shyly adding, “I can't think of anyone else who I'd want to be captain.”

Something swells up in Jack's chest. “Thank, Bittle,” he said, really meaning it. He leaned down to grab his bag. “Well, I've got a plane to catch. My dad says hi, by the way. He always asks me how you and your mom are doing.”

Bittle laughed a little and scratched the back of his head. “Oh God. If I tell her she might faint.”

Jack found himself babbling, wanting to continue the conversation. “And don't strain yourself moving. Get Ransom and Holster to help you.” Jack heaved his bag over his shoulder and started to make his way towards the stairs.

“Okay, I will...” Bittle agreed reluctantly.

Jack already has his back turned to Bittle and he really, really should get going but the words tumble out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer?” He glanced over his shoulder, admired Bittle's slim figure and warm brown eyes. It occurred to Jack that he could do it. Just kiss Bittle right there and then. Just a quick peck on his cheek. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Bittle might find that weird. After all, goodbye cheek kisses really weren't all that common in the USA and it's not like Jack could fib and tell Bittle that that's what they did in Quebec.

So he does the next best thing that he could think of; show Bittle that he cared.

“Eat more protein.”

Bittle chuckled and crossed his arm across his chest. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his hips jutting out a little due to the position. “You have a good summer too, Jack.”

 

(As Jack sat in that shuttle bus to the airport all he could think about was how illegal it was for Bittle to have such nice hips.)

 

* * *

 

 

**5**

Jack missed Bittle a lot that summer. He's doesn't remember the last time that he had missed someone so much. The feeling was odd but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

However, it did end up affecting the way that he played. During the camp Jack found himself constantly thinking about his teammate, often getting frustrated with other players when they didn't live up to Jack's expectations.

 _Bittle would have gotten that,_ he thought bitterly after one of the players had lost a quick pass that Jack had sent to them.

 _Bittle would have gone straight down the middle in that play!_ he almost shouted when one of the players had allowed themselves to get corralled into the corner of the rink.

 _Bittle would have been able to make that shot!_ He nearly screamed as he watched the puck whizz past the goal's post by a milimeter.

At the end of practice he tried to cool himself down. It was no use getting all worked up over this. He was here to train hard and get better, not to belittle the other players just because they didn't do things the way he wanted them to do. He'd get his chance to boss people around when he got back to Samwell.

He eased his way into the ice tub, muscles sore from the intense workout. The cold ice chilled him to the bone but brought with them immeasurable relief to his aching body. He let out a soft sigh and slipped in even more until the ice was up to his nose.

“Fucking Canadians. Being all chill with the cold,” Jack heard someone say behind him.

“A wild moose in it's natural habitat,” commented someone else. “Best to not disturb it. Some people have say that it's already reached it's final stage.”

"The fuck are you talking about, man?"

"You didn't know? Moose haven't evolved for thousands of years!"

Jack did not know about this but he could certainly believe it. Moose definitely looked prehistoric.

"Wow..."

"Yeah, I know right?" He paused for a moment. "Hey, c'mon. Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."

The two boys went their merry way, laughing about something that had happened earlier that day. Jack couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealous about their joy. It had always been hard for him to make friends and while nobody had come here with friendship on their minds several of them already had a partner to pair up with all the time.

It made Jack feel lonely.

It made him miss Bitty.

Speaking of the southern boy, what was he doing right now?

I _n Georgia, probably surrounded by his large family and old friends,_ his brain supplied. _Doing whatever Southern boys do during this time of year._

Jack idly wondered about what Bittle's family looked like. However, it's hard to imagine them because he has only ever seen Bittle and his mother. So imagining his family was more like imagine a bunch of Erics and Suzannes in various different ages. Erics with mustaches and Suzannes with pigtails. Jack chuckled to himself at the silly mental image. 

Was Bittle hanging out with his friends right now? Thinking about it now, Bittle had never mentioned any friends he had back in Georgia. Jack frowned at the thought.

Surely Bittle had a group of friends of home. It was impossible that he wouldn't. He was such an agreeable person. How could anyone not like him? Especially with that cute face of his. With those chocolate brown eyes and pretty blonde hair and lips that probably tasted like…

You know what? Jack's gonna stop right there. 

He sunk even further into the ice, hoping that the cold would help fight off the heat rising to his cheeks.

It didn't do shit.

He must have fallen asleep or something because next thing Jack heard was someone scream “Dude! We gotta save Jack Zimmermann!" right before someone barelled straight into the tub sending both ice and an extremely confused and panicked Jack Zimmermann flying.

Jack glared at the person who had dumped him out of the tub as he high-fived his friend. Someone gave him a towel.

"You were in there for an hour!"

"We thought that you were drowning!"

"I knew that Canadians were like, immune to the cold, but that shit is ridiculous!"

"What were thinking?!"

Jack opened his mouth to respond but closed it quickly. "A play," he muttered under his breath, hoping that nobody would figure out that he was lying.

Nobody did.

"Shit, man. Is hockey all you think about?" The boy extended a hand.

 _You wish_ , Jack thought darkly as he accepted the boy's help.

"Haha. I guess."

Jack swore that he wouldn't allow himself to think about Bittle during practice ever again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (psstt you can talk to me about these nerds on twitter @tnahere and tumblr @totally-not-addicted. Feel free to leave a message!)


	4. Booty Shorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slides right on in*
> 
> The updates have inspired me to continue so plz take this humble offering

**6**

“Hey, Jack!”

_Thu-thu, thump!_

And there went poor Jack's heart.

 There was Bittle alright, leaning over the porch's railing and waving madly at him with a huge grin plastered  on his face.

 He looked good. Really, really good. The Georgia summer sun had really done him a favor, his usually pale skin looking tanner. He's wearing a simple blue tank, sunglasses propped up on his head.

Blue was also a good color on him. Jack would have to take note of that.

 “Do you need help with those bags?” Bittle called out.

 Jack shook his head. “I’m fine, Bittle. I can handle it.”

 But Bittle wasn't having any of it. “I'mma go and help you. Stay where you are.”

 Jack let out slightly exasperated sigh but did as Bittle commanded. There was no use in fighting it; Bittle always got what he wanted. Always.

 “Everything in the car?” Bittle asked him as he passed Jack by.

 “Yup,” Jack said absently. “It's just two more bags. I can get them myself.”

 “Nonsense!” Bittle exclaimed, his adorable southern accent thickening as he got closer to the car. “It's much faster this way.”

 “Okay,” Jack relented.

 Jack waited until he heard the trunk close and Bittle's footsteps grow closer. “Jack?” said Bittle, his tone teasing. “You didn't have to wait for me.”

 Jack shrugged. “Felt bad going on without you.”

 “So proper!” Bittle laughed, brushing Jack's shoulder and giving Jack a dazzling smile. Jack felt faint. How hot was it here again? He wasn't built for this type of weather.

 Bittle went on ahead of him, humming some song that Jack assumed was popular at the moment.

 Biggest mistake that Jack has ever made in his life.

 Having Bittle in front of him meant having to see Bittle's full outfit. Which would have been fine if it had consisted of only the blue tank top, sunglasses and shorts.

 But Bittle wasn't wearing just any kind of shorts.

  
Oh, no.

 He was wearing fucking _short_ shorts. The shortest shorts that Jack had ever seen Bittle sport.

 He started to sweat even more. Had the day always been this hot?

 “Yo, Jack!”

Jack's head snapped up, tearing his eyes away from Bittle's tantalizing tan legs.

 “Eh?”

 “Dude, watch- where you're-”

 Jack's foot slipped and he nearly found his face slamming into the porch. Years of hockey was the only thing that kept from from falling. He stumbled down the stairs and nearly fell flat-on his ass. Holster stared at him from his perch in the window above, Ransom’s head popping just over his shoulder. Bittle covered his mouth with his hands, looking downright horrified.

 “You okay?” Bittle asked, dropping the bags and rushing forward. “Maybe if I-”

 “I’m fine,” Jack snapped, furious at himself for getting distracted at, what, Bittle’s goddamn legs? What’s gotten into him? Who care if Bittle’s wearing literal booty shorts? Not Jack Zimmermann, no sirree.

 “Well, fine then,” Bittle said as Jack stomped past him. “Be that way.”

 Jack didn’t stop until he reached his room, face beet red and heart pounding against his chest. He felt winded, as though he had ran a marathon rather than just walked up the stairs. He flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes, a pained groan escaping his lips.

 All that time spent thinking about Bittle and that’s how he reacts? Jack needed to get his shit together for real.

  _This would be so much easier if I could just kiss and compliment him, like a boyfriend,_ Jack thought absently.

 There was a knock on his door. “Jack? Your bags?” Bittle’s voice floated into the room.

 Jack sat up in bed and sighed. “It’s open.” Bittle pushed the door ajar and stepped in, dragging in the rest of Jack’s luggage with him.

 Bittle dumped them to a side and stood in front of Jack, twiddling his thumbs. He bit the bottom of his lip which only made Jack more aware of how much better everything would be if he could just taste Bittle’s mouth.

 “Are you mad at me?” Bittle asked quietly. “I’d hate to start of the year on the wrong foot with you again.”

 Jack blinked, suddenly ashamed of having treating Bittle so badly. The boy didn’t deserve such coldness just because Jack felt conflicted. “Long drive,” Jack confessed. “I’m still kind of out of it.”

 Bittle nodded in understanding, shoulders relaxing. “Well, you just take a quick nap and come right on down to the kitchen when you can. I made your favorite!” He flashed Jack a charming smile and then disappeared, shouting at Holster and Ransom for… something. Jack couldn’t tell. He was too preoccupied with burying his face into his pillow and hoping that he could somehow suffocate to death.

 He hadn’t even been here for an hour and he was already thinking about pushing Bittle against a wall and kissing him senseless. How was he supposed to survive another year? With Bittle right across the hall no less!

 This year was going to be absolute hell.

 (Ransom and Holster would spend the rest of the day wondering exactly what the fuck had happened out there with Bittle and Jack. This memory would only resurface much, _much_ later.)

 

 


	5. Drunk Dancing in the Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the scene that basically inspired the whole thing. I wrote this before it was revealed that Shitty had no clue about the Zimbits so please take his remarks as nothing but a drunk man wanting his BFF finding someone to love.

**7**

 

 

A drunk Bittle is pretty fun to watch. Taking care of a drunk Bittle? Not so much.

Jack's not sure when he was assigned to be the “Bittle-babysitter-of-the-night” but before he knew it his plans of a quiet evening had gone straight out the window, along with Bittle's dignity and Shitty's pants. Jack had been following Bittle for a good half of the party, watching the younger boy totter and stumble around.

“Shitty,” said Jack when he saw his best friend lounging around on the porch with only his underwear on. “Shits, you have to help me.”

Shitty raised and eyebrow and sipped his beer, somehow looking sober. The only thing that gave him away was the slight slur in his words.  “Help you? With what? You look fine to me."

Jack pointed to Bittle who had someone found a friend and had no qualms about having a singing contest with them. Jack would dare to guess by who it was from, but he really didn't feel like getting chirped tonight. “Him."

Shitty peered over his sunglasses. (Why did he need them? There was no sun! And people thought that Jack was weird.) “Oh, Bitty? Brah, he looks fine to me. He does that sometimes. You get used to it.”

Jack frowned. “I've been following him for half the night.”

Shitty threw his head back and laughed. “You've been doing what? Jack, Bitty can take care of himself fine and you know it!”

Jack tried not to grit his teeth. “I was put on babysitting duty!”

“By who?” Shitty inquired.

Jack panicked. The night had been moving so fast that he wasn't even sure when everything had started. One minute he was in his room, calmly reading his new book on World War II and then the next he was running behind a deranged Bittle who had someone found a water gun. Jack had confiscated the water gun and lectured the younger boy. Bittle had been sad for approximately two seconds before he went off to do some other crazy thing.

“I-uh-I don't remember,” Jack admitted, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “But I know that it happened!”

Shitty let out a loud sigh before he gently placed his hand on Jack's shoulder. “Look, man, I've been meaning to tell you this for a while but now I think that's time you knew.” Shitty took in a deep breath and straightened his back, ready to deliver the most important speech of his life. “Jack Zimmermann, I have had the pleasure of knowing you for four long years. I've been with you in all your ups and downs, your ins and outs. We've been together through thick and thin, and brah, if that isn't a beautiful friendship then I don't fucking know what is. And so, Jack, I gotta be totally honest with you. Dude, it's a-okay if you like Bitty.”

Jack felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of him. He wanted to laugh in Shitty's face. _You’re drunk!_ he wanted to cry. Him? Have a crush on Bittle? Impossible! Highly unlikely! Sure, Bittle was kinda cute and maybe Jack did like his face a little too much for it to be normal and also did you know that he always smelled like pie and-

Nope. Jack Zimmermann does not like Eric Richard Bittle at all. Nope, not at all.

“Shits, you’re drunk,” Jack deadpanned.

Shitty narrowed his eyes at him. “Jack, let's be real here. Maybe the rest of the team hasn't noticed but I sure fucking have.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Jack said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jack, ever since the end of junior year you've started to listen to country music.” Shitty threw his hands up in the air. “Jesus fucking Christ, country music! You're French-Canadian! How the fucking hell does that even happen?”

“Maybe I feel identified to the singer,” Jack said defensively.

“You are a twenty-four year old Canadian who has lived most of his motherfucking life on the ice. How on Earth do you feel identified by Carrie Underwood's 'Cowboy Cassanova'?”

“Is that what that song is called?” Jack asked innocently.

Shitty groaned. “I can't fucking believe how deep in denial you are. It's like you’re in this big-ass hole that you dug yourself and now you’re trying to convince yourself that you're not in it in the first place.”

Jack opened his mouth, ready to protest but Bittle decided to stumble over to them, giggling hysterically. He tried to sling his arm over Jack's shoulder, missed, and tried again. Jack stared at Bittle in horror as Shitty tried his best not to laugh his ass off.

Finally Bittle gave up, instead choosing to wrap his arms around Jack's waist and bury his face between Jack’s shoulderblades. Shitty couldn't help the guffaw that escaped him and Jack hoped that his face wasn't as red as he thought it was.

“Zimmiesss,” Bittle slurred, voice muffled. “I wanna-I wanna go for a walk.”

“Go take it yourself,” said Jack through gritted teeth, unsure if he should be glaring at Shitty who was just about to piss himself or scowl at Bittle who was the reason he was in the situation in the first place.

“Whaatt? Nooooo…. I wanna go with youse. It's night… you-you'll protect me from the monsters.”

“You heard him, Jack,” said Shiity with a shit-eating grin. “You gotta protect him from the big bad monsters.”

“There are no monsters,” said Jack. “Nothing is going to hurt you. You can do it yourself.”

“But I don't wanna go by myself,” Bittle whined in a pitched-voice. “I wanna go with you.”

Jack looked at Shitty with wide-eyes and a mouthed a small help.

“Bits, Jack here would love to take you on a walk,” Shitty said.

“He would? Yay!”

“I hate you, Shitty,” Jack grumbled.

Shitty grinned. “You wish. Now, go ahead and have fun, you fucking beautiful lovebirds you.”

“We aren't birds!” exclaimed Bittle, laughing. He wrapped his arms around Jack's arm and leaned his head against Jack's biceps. “We don't have beaks.”

Shitty doubled over laughing and Jack scowled at him. So much for Shitty’s support.  “Let's  go,” Jack muttered under his breath and dragged Bitty away, giving Shitty a pointed glare which only made Shitty roar even louder.

“What's tickling him so much?” Bitty asked once they were far away from the Haus.

“I'd like to know too,” Jack replied grimly.

It was a nice night to go on a stroll. A few stars were sprinkled against the black velvet sky, twinkling down on earth. Their companion, the moon, peeking slightly against the dark.  Samwell was usually quiet, most people either asleep or partying the night away. Jack decided to take a lap with Bitty around Lake Quad, trying to ignore how romantic it was with just the two of them.

Bittle half-walked, half-stumbled drunkenly behind him, humming some sort of pop song that Jack did not know. He seemed content, eyes closed and rubbing his head affectionately against Jack's bicep. It felt nice, especially since Bittle almost never showed physical affection. The most Jack usually got out of him were fist-bumps and the majority of their hugs, if not all, were initiated by Jack.

This realization bothered Jack immensely for some odd reason so he decided to stop thinking about that and instead focused on how Bittle sang/wailed an Adele song. (Thank you Holster for still having some faith in him.)

Jack chuckled. “You know, maybe the geese in the area think that you're doing a mating song. Don't be surprised if they start flocking their way here.”

Bittle puffed his cheeks out. “I bet they think I’m the sexiest goose here.”

“Not whilst drunk,” replied Jack cheekily.

Bittle squawked indignantly and started to pummel Jack with his fists, curses flying out of his mouth. Jack laughed, amused by Bittle's poorly executed aggression. Bittle persisted in assaulting Jack for the rest of the walk. Had it been anyone else Jack probably would have been annoyed. But, for some odd reason, he found himself forgiving Bittle.

Their walk was coming to an end, the Haus starting to loom over in the horizon. Jack really doesn’t want to go back. He wants to stay out here, play fighting with Bittle underneath the starry sky. Bittle was starting to get tired, yawning and complaining about his aching feet.

“You walk to too fast,” Bittle whined, dragging his feet. “Too athletic.”

“We play on the same team, Bittle,” Jack reminded him.

“Yeah! But like- but like you’re different,” Bittle slurred, jabbing Jack’s chest with a finger.

Jack chuckled. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you feel you better.”

“Ha!” Bittle shouted. “It does make me feel-” He lurched forward, his shoe snagging a crack on the sidewalk. He let out a pitched squeal as he went down and Jack immediately went after him. Jack managed to grab Bittle before Bittle’s head smashed onto the concrete. Jack let out a stream of curses, occasionally punctuated by concerned questions. Bittle merely stared at him, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Bittle!” Jack snapped and Bittle furrowed his brow. “Good grief. I thought that you were going to die!”

“I’m not dead,” Bittle informed him.

“I can see that,” Jack replied.

They stared into each other’s eyes until Bittle burst out into drunken giggles. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and grinned at him mischievously. “Look at this y'all… Jack Zimmermann, dipping someone in public. How scandalous!”

Jack could feel his cheeks heat up but he did his best to keep a straight face. “I'll drop you,” he warned.

Bittle lowered his eye-lids, smirking. “You won't,” he said smugly.

Jack's not gonna lie. He was pretty tempted to drop Bittle just to see the shock on the other's face when it happened. Yet at the same time he wasn’t sure if he was willing to deal with Bittle crying or getting hurt. So instead Jack leaned until their lips were touching. Bittle’s eyes widened as they shared a breath.

“Try me,” Jack whispered and time stopped.

It was hard to concentrate with Bittle’s face so close to his. It made Jack’s mind fuzzy and warm and a number of scenarios flitted through. He could close the gap between them. He could stop wondering what it was like to kiss Bittle. Did he taste like all those pies he baked?

It would be so, so easy to kiss him now.

But Bittle probably wouldn’t remember it. This is not a kiss that Bittle is consenting to. First kisses should be done when the other person knows what their doing. It’s just basic decency.

Jack bit his bottom lip and drew back, helping Bittle get back up on his feet. Something inside Jack deflated and a little voice inside his head was screaming at him for letting this opportunity slip past him. But then Bittle’s rosey cheeks grew brighter and he started to chirp Jack for being all bark and no bite and Jack realized that he had made the right decision.

“You know, Mr. Zimmermann, I think that you would make a wonderful dancer partner,” Bittle said.

Jack scratched the back of his head. “You think so?”

“We should dance next time,” Bittle said.

“Next time there’s a party or next time you’re drunk?” Jack asked, amused.

Bittle made a shrugging motion. “We can have both, right? Drunk dancing in the moonlight.” Bittle found this hysterical and he started to laugh. Jack merely rolled his eyes and smiled at him fondly. He guided Bittle back to the Haus and stayed with him until the party started to wind down. He helped Bittle crawl into his bed and tucked the younger boy in.

Bittle grabbed Jack’s arm before Jack was able to slip away. “Thank you,” Bittle slurred.

“For what?” Jack asked.

“Saving my life,” Bittle replied. “Head almost hit the sidewalk. Can’t have two concussions, nope.”

Jack laughed at how ridiculous Bittle sounded. Unable to help himself, Jack gave Bittle a tender kiss on his forehead. “Maybe if you ate more protein your coordination would be better,” Jack said.

Bittle let out a disgusted whine as Jack walked away, swearing up and down that he would never, never bake Jack another pie in his life. Jack let these threats slide off of him. In the morning Bittle would forget this promise and go back to being his normal, sober self. Jack’s future pies were still safe.

There was nothing to worry about unless you counted Shitty. But, then again, Shitty once told Jack that he was convinced that Dex was an alien in disguise so it was probably just the drinks talking.

Jack was fine.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> (heyyy you can talk to me about these hockey nerds over on tumblr @totally-not-addicted and twitter @TNAhere)
> 
> Hopefully I'll post a new chappie every three or four days.


End file.
